


Beaux matins

by kingollie



Category: Bon Cop Bad Cop (2006), Bon Cop Bad Cop 2 (2017)
Genre: Bilingual Character(s), David being a damn good bf, Established Relationship, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Obviously Martin has ALS, Post-Canon, Some french but idk how accurate it is, Terminal Illnesses, Which makes mornings hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 00:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15036362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingollie/pseuds/kingollie
Summary: A few months after receiving their awards David and Martin stick together. Close together. David is a good boyfriend and Martin wonders how he ever survived without him.





	Beaux matins

As soon as he awoke Martin could immediately sense that today wouldn't be one of his better ones. He woke in in a puddle of his own sweat, the sheets were clinging to his soaking skin, plastered uncomfortably to his gangly frame. His body was trembling violently, and he could barely coordinate himself well enough to sit up, though eventually he did. Proceeding to promptly slump against the headboard, slithering down it a slight with a harsh exhale of breath. A swallow. It was hard and painful, as though he was forcing down a particularly large lump of food. 

“David?” At the very least his voice held some modicum of strength, it carried from the bedroom, with a semblance of volume. Thank God. His shaking and quivering had the tendency to make him apprehensive and sickeningly nervous. “Où es-tu?” Though scrambled, his brain allowed for him to speak a little French. 

“Dans la cuisine!” The sound, though muffled was comforting and Martin felt himself sink further in the mattress as soon as he heard the other man. The ever-nagging fear that David would just up and leave slipped from his chest after hearing his voice, echoing down the corridors. “Donne-moi une seconde.” Martin hummed, aware the other wouldn't be able to hear his response, merely soothing himself with the idea of conversation. Focusing in on the soft, barely audible cluttering coming from the kitchen, rather than his fuzzy sight and trembling limbs. 

Slowly, he began to pluck the sheets away from himself - fucking hell, he was covered in a sheen of sweat - no wonder poor David had evacuated the bed earlier. He writhed himself out of the tangle of layers that had been piled upon him the night before. His body was working overtime, sweating more than usual, for whatever reason. Martin assumed it to be a side effect of the medication or the illness itself.

He closed his eyes briefly, the eyelids fluttering shut, face drooping as he allowed himself to relax. Now, he was certain his eyes were finally starting to give up, the world was becoming more and more fuzzy and dark - making it increasingly difficult to read or perform other basic tasks. Yet, he still hadn't told David; the man probably had more dire issues than his terminally ill boyfriend (that still felt weird to say), who was already a mess as it was. The man didn't want to ruin the other's day with complaints, no matter how many times he heard ‘it's not a bother, dumbass, I love you’, it would never quite stick. David deserved better. Hell.

Martin scrubbed at his eye sockets, digging in the bones of his knuckles and rubbing out any sleep dust which had accumulated during the night. It was a struggle, his arms felt heavy and unresponsive - numb and not truly attached to his torso even as they shook. As soon as he seemed content the man dropped both limbs, letting them flop uselessly against the bedding.

A yawn rocked him, shoulders shuddering, back arching as he opened his jaws wide and let out a low, weary sound. He had no energy left within him to lift and stretch his arms up above his head. He hadn't even heard David as the other approached and poked his head about the doorframe, silvery hair sticking out in unkempt clumps, partly styled by water he must have splashed over his scalp. It definitely needed cutting, the strands becoming more and more untameable as each day meandered on. Even Martin could make that out.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Dormez bien?” David tapped open the already ajar door with the tips of his sock-clad toes, slinking into the room. In one hand he clutched an orange bottle of pills and on the other palm he had precariously balanced a tray sporting, what was presumably, breakfast. Though he was still no master chef, the other man had improved his cooking talents significantly since moving into (invading) Martin’s home. “Breakfast! I even managed to salvage you some toast, so think yourself lucky.” Okay, so maybe he was still pretty shit at making food.

“No, I'm sweaty.” Martin wrinkled his nose, observing as the other set down the tray at the end of the bed and began to unscrew the lid from the pill bottle. “And merci, mon chéri.” His tone dripped with sarcasm, David chuckled, wiggling his brows. 

Pop. There went the lid, skittering across the room. Martin winced and David merely watched it fly and bounce off the wall.

“Whoops.”

“Oui.” One brow shot up, before he returned his gaze from the lid to the other man, who had plucked two pills from the bottle, set it down and snatched the glass of orange juice resting on the tray too. He plonked himself down beside Martin, casting a sceptical glance to his partner’s hands. 

“You're pretty shaky today, amour.” Oh, and there came the big guns, David only ever called him that while they were intimate or when he was really worried. “Here, you take the pills,” he pressed the little capsules into Martin’s palm, “I'll hold the drink.” It was too early for any confrontation over this and Martin was feeling particularly agonised and miserable this morning, he didn't need to cause any more anguish by getting overly proud. “There.”

With a considerable amount of effort Martin lifted his trembling hand to his mouth, tossing both pills into it ungracefully. The disgusting aftertaste immediately swelling on his tongue and sweeping over his taste buds, before it was swamped by the sharp tang of orange juice which David so gratefully supplied. Thank God for Bouchard. He swallowed down what he could, awkwardly (still shaking) patting the other man's arm to signal him to stop pouring copious amounts of juice into his half-gaping mouth. It was difficult not to retch up all that he had just forced down. Shudder. He curled his sweaty fingers together in his lap, probably looking distinctively miserable, as David quickly spoke after setting down the almost empty glass.

“Hey, do you think you can do work today chéri?” One broad hand stroked across Martin’s cheek, over his neck, sliding down to the small of his back. Where it stayed, smoothing small circles into his skin. “You look like you need a little more sleep and a lot more loving.” 

Martin huffed at that, face reddening more than it already had, ears prickling pink. The hand at his back continued to slide fingers over the plane of his skin, slow and gentle, soothing him. The thin man leant forward, tucking his face into the nook of David's neck, nuzzling into the warm skin, breathing in the scent of cologne and burnt toast. The other man gathered him close, pulling him to his chest, broad palms sliding over the smaller man's lean sides. “You've been there consistently for the past two weeks, I think you deserve a day off. Especially when you're so sweaty and shaky today, you need a rest.”

“Are you sure? The case we're on is pretty big.” Martin shifted to look up his lover, features scrunched up in concern. David rolled his eyes, grasping the slim man's jaw and peppered his lips with soft, rapid kisses. 

“You're a crétin,” he managed between the pecks, “if you're feeling shitty then you get the day off. The doctors are always asking you to stop overworking yourself, you'll wear yourself out, mon nounours.” David pulled back, stroking his fingers through Martin’s prickly hair, along the side of his head and at the back of his neck. They were accompanied by little scratches, the other's nails brushing firmly over his scalp. Martin exhaled, shuddering before curling close, eyes sliding shut.

He wished that he could stay like this all day, buried into the chest of his boyfriend, forgetting his debilitating illness and family issues. Because David made him feel normal, he didn't coddle him or treat him like a frail elderly man. He spoke to him as though he were the same as everyone else - only mentioning his illness when Martin wanted to speak about it or if it got particularly bad.

“Okay,” his own voice was soft, if not a little croaky still, “I wouldn't mind a day off, to relax. Though my caretaker would also need to stay.”

“Oh of course he will.” David laughed, a low, rumbling noise. “Ici.” Martin could feel the words vibrate through the other's body against his own. It was a comforting sensation, making him feel so very alive, when nothing else would work the sheer presence of his lover. A warm, constant, existence, reminded him that he was still actually real too. “Anyway! Petit-déjeuner.”

“Ah, oui.” Martin squinted, one brow shooting up to cast a suspicious look in the direction of the tray bearing the food the other had brought in. “La nourriture.”

“Oh, don't be so pessimistic, it's probably edible.. I believe.” A small smile twitched upon Martin’s features, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes crinkling up in an amused manner as David shuffled away, one hand slipping to rest on the other's thigh, arching over to the tray and dragging it over to the both of them. 

“Okay. But apologies if I lose all trust in you, upon eating that.” The toast was dark, not exactly charcoal-burnt but damn close, Martin was certain the bacon wasn't meant to be so brown, and even without spotting the yolk, he knew the egg would have been hard. Despite his words, Martin didn't really care, David knew that much, he would eat anything the other man presented him - whether it be due to love or some other factor. He still relied on David's home cooking; disaster or no. “Could I, um, have some help?” Both hands raised a little, still shaking violently. The pills would take a while to set in.

“Oh! Uh, oui.” David looked especially concerned, Martin was often too stubborn to even ask initially. He moved about a slight, until he was parallel to the other man.

“Merci.” The man tried a watery smile, and David shifted the food onto his own lap, immediately plucking up some of the toast, tearing it half, in half again. Resting his head on Martin’s shoulder and holding one hand up, he allowed the other to nibble away at the toast. David's lips were making his way over the thin man's neck, short beard scratching the sensitive skin, teeth grazing, occasionally rasping the vulnerable place with his tongue. “How am I meant to eat with you biting me?” Martin sounded amused, rather than frustrated.

“Sorry mon chéri, even if you do stink of sweat, I still want to kiss you all over.” And with that David continued, craning up to give the other's cheek a rough, fuzzy kiss. Martin swallowed down the toast tightly, choking a little, a soft hacking noise rising from his throat. He turned, cupping David's face with shaking digits, thumbs brushing over the prickly stubble on his cheeks. A smile. More kisses, repeated, intense, but quick and abrupt. Martin closed his eyes, humming loudly, leaning near. “Okay, finish your toast at least, dumbass. You need your strength.” The scruffy man pulled back carefully, nails scraping oh-so lightly over Martin’s cheeks. It was gentle, affectionate. The small man made a dopey sigh, eyes fluttering. “Yeah, okay. Stop getting all horny during breakfast, try doing some eating first.”

One of Martin’s eyes cracked open. David was proffering another part of the toast, he accepted, chewing slowly and with deliberation. A deep swallow, pleased he could still managed to keep the food down. “There we go.” David blinked easily, plucking up the rest of the food, waiting patiently for the other man to nibble his way through the pieces. It was slow, and still a bit of a struggle on Martin’s side but he persisted and finished. “Bien.” 

His fingers drifted over Martin’s features, the pads of his thumbs running over his cheekbones and beneath each eye. “Magnifique, you are.” The man being cradled cracked a soft grin, wrinkles deep. 

“Je ne suis pas, mais merci.” David rolled his eyes.

“Tais-toi.” Then he was kissing him, slow, easy. Fingers combing, carding through Martin’s hair, pulling him closer. The thin man went without a struggle, but found he couldn't quite get close enough. 

“The tray.” He hissed into David's mouth, which had opened a little, tongue probing but merely being met with the other's teeth. “It's in the way.”

“Tabernac!” Was all he got, as David began to tug the tray from between them, shunting it on the bedside cabinet. Something clattered, hit the floor. “Fuck.” The man wound his arms about Martin and tugged the other into his broad lap. A whine. “Jesus. Tabernac! I love you. So fucking much.”

“I love you too.” 

Perhaps today wouldn't be so awful.

**Author's Note:**

> Mega oof . I love these two. Just saying "I love you mon chum" is gay as hell because "chum" literally means boyfriend in Canadian French.


End file.
